


name on a cup

by NedandChuck



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Mistaken Identity, bg daisira and implied georgie/melanie :3c, there is absolutely no jon/peter please bare with me jon is just really stupid, this was actually supposed to be really short but we all know i have no self control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NedandChuck/pseuds/NedandChuck
Summary: Jon hates the remote order machine and all of the bravely annoying orders that come with it.Especially Peter Lukas and his shitty, weird, intricate orders, fuck that guy.





	name on a cup

**Author's Note:**

> dfvdsjdbh im SO BAD at titles but please enjoy this dumb fic !!!

Jon has hated the online order machine with a passion ever since Elias had it installed.

Daisy scoffs whenever he laments about it to her, but even she  has to  agree that it has given their customers the bravery to come up with absolutely absurd drink requests.  Drink requests like the one he is cobbling together and grumbling at when the door rings behind him.  Instead of attending to the person who has just come in, he pretends not to have noticed and finishes the order he is working on. As if the drink itself is to blame, he mutters to it that he can’t put a  _ half _  pump of flavoring in, that isn’t how pump machines  _ work _  before setting it down to be kept warm while it awaits the demon who has ordered it in. The receipt he places under it must be a foot and a half long.

Before turning to greet the  customer  who has been waiting with considerable patience at the register, Jon has to remind himself to plaster on a friendly smile ,  “Hello, what can I get for you today?”

The man flushes, and stammers for a minute, allowing Jon one moment to appreciate the customer’s sweet smile and the freckles that decorate his face, currently backlit by the red in his cheeks. That moment ends when he responds.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Peter Lukas?”

Jon can’t help it when his customer service smile slips from his face. Daisy tells him his glower will frighten customers away, and he can only hope that she is right as he stomps to the coffee he had just set aside and shoves it across the counter to the man that has become the bane of his existence. 

“I hope it’s to your liking,” he feels a sick sense of satisfaction when his growl flusters the man that is apparently Peter Lukas further. Good. He should feel horrible for crafting this monstrosity.

“I,  er , thank you,” Peter fumbles with his wallet for a moment  and stuffs some bills into the tip jar, “Have a nice day!”

He doesn’t get a response, and Jon waits until he has  disappeared from view  to look into the tip jar and count the six crumpled dollars that are meant to make up for the drink order. Well, it does help a bit.

When Daisy comes off her break, Jon complains about the customer, though instead of sympathy he is met with delighted laughter.

“I know that kid, he ’s a sweetheart. Don’t give me that look, Jon, making specialty orders isn’t that bad,” she ties off her apron and begins checking over the store for something to do.

______

Peter Lukas doesn’t return for a couple of days after that, but Jon still seethes a little when he sees the name on the ridiculously long ticket as the printer spits it out. Daisy is in the store this time, and she gives Jon a smug look from where she is wiping down the espresso machine, not even bothering to take the order off his hands. Peter is right on time, once again, entering the moment that Jon tops the drink off with whipped cream and cheerfully greeting Daisy.

Jon doesn’t bother putting in the effort to smile as he slides the drink over to a man who clearly can’t take a hint. Peter runs a hand through his messy hair, seemingly unconscious of the action, and accepts the coffee before putting a few bills in the tip jar. He barely looks phased by Jon’s frown as he offers him a soft smile  and small “thank you.”

“How’s it today, Lukas?” Daisy leans across the counter, and Jon is horrified at her for keeping the man longer than necessary.

Peter looks surprised, opening his mouth for a moment, considering, then shaking his head and closing it. “Not too bad, Daisy, yourself?”

“The store’s been slow today. Jon and I are hoping not too many more people come  in  so we can take the older pastries home.”

“Oh? Your manager must be awfully lenient to allow that,” Peter says, not unkindly but with the surprised kind of tone that suggests he has experience in food service.

Daisy shrugs and taps the display case’s glass, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We’re fending off complaints from customers about stale baked goods, after all.”

Peter lets out a charming laugh at that, then raises his coffee in a pseudo wave to the  both of them  as he heads out the door, “I hope you get your pastries, then. Afternoon Daisy, Jon.”

Jon harrumphs after him , making Daisy laugh again.

“What has  that poor man ever done to you?” She doesn’t really care, just likes to rib him for being antisocial at a job where that’s a horrible thing to be, so Jon just scoffs and returns to washing dishes, gesturing vaguely to the drink ticket still sitting by the register.

“In the special requests, he asked me to make it left handed. Said he would know if I didn’t. Who  _ says _  that?”

Daisy pointedly throws the receipt in the trash and looks around the store for something to do, “He’s always been really sweet when I’ve met him, and he tips really well.”

Jon says nothing and continues to grumble at the fading soap bubbles as  Daisy changes the subject to talk about her fiancée.

_____

It is the first time in a month that Jon’s shift has ended before 4pm, so of course the skies had decided to absolutely  open up  an hour before, despite how pleasant and clear they had been all morning. He has been dreading  leaving ever since Daisy reminded him he doesn’t have an umbrella, but he’s not about to wait the storm out when there seems to be no end in sight.

Jon is steeling himself for the cold under the awning when he hears a familiar voice that fills him with just a little bit of dread (that is the name he’s putting to the twisting in his stomach, since he is feeling especially dramatic.)

“Jon! Are you getting off your shift?” Jon draws his arms around himself to  block out the cold, trying not to be grateful for the distraction as  _ Peter _  jogs excitedly towards him.

“No, Peter, I just enjoy standing in the freezing rain.”

Peter laughs good-naturedly, despite Jon’s biting tone, before he stops and cocks his head. “You don’t have an umbrella? Not even a raincoat?”

Jon throws out his arms to show that he is not, in fact, hiding any sort of protection from the rain on him, and gives Peter a dry look. Still unaffected, the man scrambles under the awning, closes his own umbrella, and hands it over to Jon. 

“What,” he responds, unintelligently, as Peter gestures to his duck patterned rain coat.

“I have plenty to keep me dry, and you probably don’t want to go home sopping wet. I’ll be back in the shop  in a few days, anyways, just  give it back to me then.  Don’t give me that look, Jon, I’m fully protected!” To demonstrate, Peter flips the hood of his coat up, and Jon  has to  stop a fond look from crossing his face when the bill of his raincoat’s hood is decorated to look like a duck’s.

He accepts the umbrella, taking a soft breath and saying, sincerely, “Thank you, Peter, I’ll get it back to you.”

Jon heads off, barely registering the sound of the other man yelling, “I’m not actually -“ over  the thundering rain.

__________

The thing about Peter Lukas’ orders is that Jon wouldn’t mind them, if the intricate drink order were the same every time.  Or even a set schedule of when the order would come in. Then, at least, Jon would be able to make it a part of his work day, and it would become little more than another odd quirk of the shop.

As it is, the drink  are  never the same, always have a base level of weirdness, and Jon has no idea when Peter is going to call one in. Daisy seems to have a sixth sense for it, though, because she is always smugly busy and forces Jon to put the drink together. Basira is sitting at the bar, distracting him from where he is finishing up the drink, when Daisy suddenly cuts her off and calls out, “Jon, your nemesis is here!”

A second later, the bell above the door rings, and Jon spins around with the drink in his hand, waving Basira off when she perfectly arches one judgmental brow and mouths, “nemesis?” at him.

“Afternoon, all,” Peter chirps cheerily, already pushing his tip into the jar even before he takes the coffee from Jon. “How’s it today, Daisy?”

“Completely dead, Lukas. Yourself?”

“Just the opposite, my boss has got me running errands all day,” Peter clicks his tongue and raises the coffee cup, as if in explanation.

“You’ve got time to see us though, huh?” Jon accuses, and his answer is a confused look. It reminds him of the one he had seen on Peter’s face before heading into the storm, which brings his thoughts to the umbrella sitting in the back room, “Oh, stay here a moment.”

When he returns, Peter is sat next to Basira at the bar , chatting absently until Peter spots Jon and jumps out of his stool, “Oh, I had completely forgotten about him!”

When he takes the umbrella back by the handle, their hands brush (and Jon does not jump at it, because he is a grown ass man, Daisy wipe that smirk off your face) and Peter jerks back a little, eyes fixed on the tiles of the floor as both hands grip the umbrella to his chest. Quietly, he thanks Jon so sincerely, an  outside observer wouldn’t be able to tell wh ich had done the favor for the other. Peter meets Jon’s eyes quickly to say goodbye, throws one over his shoulder to the women, and hurries out the door.

Jon specifically avoids eye contact with Daisy and Basira as he makes his way back behind the counter, until Daisy clears her throat to get his attention to tease  him, but  is cut off by the door’s bell jingling once more. Three heads turn to see Peter standing nervously in the door, and he makes his way to the counter without making eye contact.

“I,  er , forgot,” he gets out, motioning to the coffee next to Basira. She hands it to him, and he nods awkwardly, “Alright all.”

Daisy turns back to Jon after Peter has left, a mischievous glint in her eyes , “When’s the wedding?”

Jon gives her a confused look that is only half for show until she gestures at the door after Peter, to which he sniffs importantly and turns away to wipe something down. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Daisy. He’s my nemesis, remember?”

He tries his best to block out  Basira’s  outburst of, “Okay  _ what _  are you two talking about?” and Daisy’s answering laugh and mostly fictional account of Jon’s lack of relationship with Peter Lukas. 

_____

Jon is sweeping the store the next time Peter comes in, completely unannounced. He jumps at the sound of the  bell, and  gives a concerned look to their printer when he sees who it is.

Peter gives him a patient smile as he makes his way behind the counter and jabs at the computer to check if he had missed a remote order. “We don’t have anything from you today, sorry. What can I get you?”

“Oh, no I’m just here for me today,  it’s my day off, ” Peter laughs, fumbling a moment for his wallet before ordering a mocha. Jon stands, fingers poised to type in the rest of his order, raising one expectant eyebrow. “Erm, that’s it, Jon. Just a medium white chocolate mocha.”

“That’s really all?” Jon narrows his eyes, assuming this is some sort of test, “No ne of your usual weird requests?”

“Jesus, what has he made you all do? No, just the coffee, but thank you.” Peter pays and sits to read at a table when Jon tells him it will be a moment. He spends the entire time running through the familiar motions of making a popular drink trying to puzzle out the meaning behind his customer’s words. He’s resolved to ask him when he turns around and sets the coffee down on the counter.

“Peter?”

The man looks up from his book and looks around the empty shop, before turning his furrowed brows to Jon, practically stomping up to the counter to take his drink. He hesitates for a moment, and Jon decides to let him  figure out what he wants to say before launching into his own questions.

“You know I’m not Peter Lukas, right?”

Actually, that’s  the last thing that Jon expected to hear from him. He doesn’t even get the chance to respond before this suddenly nameless man plows on.

“You and Daisy keep calling me that, and I figured it was a joke or something? I’m  actually  Peter’s  assistant. I come in to get his drinks  every once in a while , because he’s always secluded in his office, but my name is Martin.” Martin pulls out his receipt and shows Jon the bottom where, sure enough, the name ‘Martin Blackwood’ sits above a censored credit card number.

Jon is at a loss for words, because suddenly the animosity that he holds for Peter- for  _ Martin _  is actually misdir ected .  Suddenly, he’s just the sweet, soft spoken man who gives generous tips for coffees that aren’t even his and lends his umbrellas to needlessly awful baristas. Suddenly, Jon is forced to confront the idea that has been pushing at the back of his mind since this man walked into the store – that Martin is ridiculously attractive, with his bright smiles and his freckles and his sweaters.

“I did not know that, no,” Jon replies, still unsure of how he is meant to react. “I am...sorry, I suppose.”

Martin laughs  all of a sudden , twisting the coffee cup between his hands nervously as his cheeks light up. “Well, it was an honest mistake.”

Before Jon gets a chance to respond, Martin is checking the watch on the underside of his wrist and going slightly pale. “Sorry to run, but I had plans soon, I didn’t realize- It was nice seeing you, Jon. Have a nice day.”

The bell over the door rings twice as Martin exists, and Jon is left staring at the wall, wondering what he is meant to do with this new information.

_____

“Daisy, please,” Jon sighs wearily, unable to move as she mops up the spilled coffee around him. Or, as she leans heavily on the mop and tries to catch her breath, only to lose it again when she looks up at him.

“You look like a drowned rat,” she wheezes out, passing him yet another rag so that he can continue to try and get his hair dry.

“ So  you’ve said,” Jon grumbles, and crosses his arms and scowls until she clears a wide enough path in the milk that he has thrown all over the floor that he can stomp off to the restroom.

When he pulls his shirt over his head it is so wet that it is physically heavy, and even after he rings it out in the sink, it is so soaked that he doesn’t want to wear it for the next three hours of his shift.

Jon is still trying to squeeze the milk out of his shirt, trying to solve the problem in a way that does not involve wearing a wet shirt for the rest of the day, when the door opens behind him. He jumps out of his skin and swears softly at himself for not locking the door as he whirls around to face...

Gods above, of course it’s Martin.

Martin who, true to form, goes completely red and begins spluttering when he catches sight of Jon, who isn’t doing much better as he tries to cover his bare chest with his uniform. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I should have knocked. Is everything okay, what happened? I-”

“Martin,” Jon lets out a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh, holding up one hand to silence him. “I just...spilled everywhere. My shirt’s soaked now, and I’m trying to get it as dry as I can before Daisy needs me again.”

“Oh! Oh, well. Do you all have any spare uniforms in the back?”

“Erm, no, we don’t have specific uniform shirts.”

“Oh, then, ah,” Martin takes a moment to wiggle out of his sweater, and Jon is struck a little speechless when Martin’s shirt rides up in the struggle to reveal that his hips are just as completely covered in freckles as his face and neck. “Could you wear this?”

It takes a moment for Jon to respond, his recollection of how words work set back when he looks up again to see that Martin’s hair has been tousled which, coupled with his crooked grin, is enough to make Jon’s heart stop. He opts to nod silently and take the sweater, completely drowning in the soft, thick weave. Jon shoves the sleeves up to his elbows, furrowing his brows to try and fight off the blush threatening to take over his cheeks when he hears Martin make a little noise.

Jon is not a big man to begin with, but Martin is in every sense of the word (he tries not to think about it too much, it can short circuit his brain if he lets his mind wander about how much taller and. ..he  tries not to think about it too much) so his sweater makes him feel extra small, in an oddly safe way. He manages to mutter out a, “Thank you,” as Martin holds the door open for him, crooked grin now soft around the edges.

The grin that Daisy gives him when she sees the two of them reenter the lobby makes Jon fear for his life. He ducks his head to hide his face in the collar of Martin’s sweater and is suddenly overwhelmed.

Until this exact moment, Jon was not aware that he knew what Martin smelled like. Now his senses are flooded with nothing but fresh laundry detergent, faint aftershave, and something beneath that is purely Martin. Jon takes a deep breath and tries to school his expression before resurfacing and avoiding eye contact with  both of them  as he slips back into his apron and makes a beeline for the ticket counter. When he finally looks up, Martin is gone, and Daisy is leaning over the counter watching him with a smug grin that he does not trust.

“So,” she says with an air of casualty that is clearly fake, “Martin’s pretty cute, huh?”

“Back to work, Mrs. Tonner,” Jon turns away from her and marches away to calm his racing heart.

_____

“Talk to him, Jon,” Daisy has been chanting all day. When  Basira  stopped by for her lunch break, she joined in, telling Jon that private investigators decide their own hours when he eventually asks her how long her lunch break  _ is. _

Jon suffers through her prodding and loving bullying for the better part of the morning, and thanks every star in the sky that she isn’t around when Martin shows up for Lukas’ coffee order. He leans on the counter and chats excitedly at Jon, who makes little noises to let Martin know he is listening as he busies himself filling orders.

He almost doesn’t hear Daisy coming out from the back until he hears her greet Martin, “Can I get you a drink?”

Martin pauses, and Jon watches him tilt his head in consideration for a minute before he gives Daisy an order, and she passes Jon a cup. He doesn’t bother to look at what she wrote on it, since Martin’s orders are always relatively simple, just goes through the motions of making his coffee as Martin dives right back into his story about the stray dog he secretly kept behind his desk for a week before Lukas notices.

“I think that I would hate to be your boss,” Jon raises his eyebrows slightly in amusement as he hands Martin his coffee. Martin just waves him off good naturedly, and Jon focuses on the wrinkle of his nose when he smiles rather than the way their hands brush around the cup. His furrowed brow shifts from flustered to confused when he sees Martin pause, staring at the coffee in his hands before meeting Jon’s eyes. He looks like he’s trying to confirm something, but Jon can’t give him the answer to a question he doesn’t know, so he just tilts his head and mirrors Martin’s confused frown.

“Okay,” Martin says breathlessly, wrapping both hands around his cup like it is a treasure before wedging it into the drink tray Daisy hands him with Lukas’ order. “I’ll see you soon, Jon. Ah, Daisy, have a nice afternoon.”

“You too, Blackwood,” she calls after him. She knows something. Jon knows that Daisy knows  _ something _ , but he can’t figure out what it is, or how to ask, so he just settles back into the rhythm of work and tries very hard not to think about it.

_____

Martin doesn’t come back into the store for a very long time.

_____

Georgie is giggling in the corner with Melanie already when Jon opens the door to the Hussain-Tonner apartment, meaning they probably arrived early to set up, then started the celebrations early as well. They look up when they see him and immediately chorus, “No men allowed!” He can faintly hear  Basira  joining in the battle cry from the women’s bedroom, and Daisy says it to him as if it is a greeting as she takes the engagement present out of his hands and kisses his cheek in the same motion.

Despite her hard stance against his entrance, Georgie hops up and over to Jon, handing him a drink and telling him that the Admiral has been moping ever since he last visited, and not to leave her cat pining after him for so long.

Daisy appears again, having dragged  Basira  out of their room. Melanie immediately jumps up to host the Newly Wed game the three guests had put together. Jon and Georgie play the game opposite them – which Jon ribbed Georgie about for ages after they made the arrangement, and she had turned red when he asked if there was a  reason  she couldn’t handle the implication of Melanie being her partner. Three questions in, Tim and Sasha burst in with a peace offering of brownies for being late. At some point when Jon isn’t paying attention, Helen must let herself in as well.

He and Georgie are losing the game, but not by much, and Jon can’t bring himself to care very much. His friends may be the only people who know how to make him feel comfortable and safe, and every one of them has gathered tonight to celebrate something incredible. Every one of them is here.

Which is why he jumps so easily when the doorbell rings. Daisy untangles herself from her  fiancee  long enough to sweep over to the door and throw it open, greeting whoever was on the other side with a, “Oh, you came!”

Jon isn’t facing the  door, and  can already feel himself growing bitter at the thought of a new person he does not know ruining his mood. The ladies, however, are all still playing their game, and have gotten Helen and Sasha in on it as well. They see the person at the entrance and bite down giggles to shout, “No men allowed!”

“No,” Daisy says importantly from the door, and Jon can hear her wrestling the guest out of his coat and shutting the door behind him, “Martin is the only man who is allowed.”

At the sound of his name, Jon sits up and turns around without thinking, eyes wide. Apparently, Martin is just as surprised to see him, because he freezes where he is unraveling his scarf from around his neck and, in the interesting (wonderful) way of his he chokes out, “Oh, Jon.”

Melanie clears her throat and calls everyone back into the game, and Jon tries not to notice that Martin sits as far away from him as he possibly can.

Of course, Daisy and  Basira  win the game. It’s incredible to see  Basira  throw her arms around her fiancée's neck with so much force that it knocks both of them down to the empty space on the couch, and he’s struck with awe at watching one of his best friends looking so in love that it rolls off of her in waves. Georgie, folded on the floor next to him and using his legs as an armrest, steals his attention back when she slaps his leg, “It’s like we don’t even know each other anymore.”

He bends down to kiss her on the forehead dismissively, ignoring her protesting noises as he falls back against his seat to quietly absorb the feeling of his friends being lively and fun and happy. Jon is startled back into reality by the sound of a glass tipping and Martin muttering soft apologies as he cleans up a small spill with the stack of napkins Melanie grabs from the table and pushes into his hands. He watches Martin make excuses to leave the room, maneuvering around the maze of people stretched out on the floor with two hands full of wet napkins.

When clearing her throat doesn’t work, Daisy gets Jon to stop staring at the kitchen door Martin has disappeared to and look at her by kicking him in the shin. He makes an affronted noise and turns to face her, but she is having none of it. With a stern look, she nods towards the kitchen door,  signaling  him to follow Martin in.

Once Jon catches her meaning, he shoots out of his chair, catching the attention of Georgie and Tim on either side of him. He mutters vague excuses, but they are already used to the way that he is enough that they laugh, shake their heads, and return to their respective conversations. Jon is grateful for this, even though Daisy is smirking at him when he catches her eye again

He waves her off and makes his way into the kitchen, barely avoiding tripping over Melanie’s legs.

Martin is standing over the sink, gripping the counter and staring at the drinks chilling in the ice haphazardly piled there. Jon clears his throat and startles him once again, feeling bad that this is the way they keep doing that to one another.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, how have you been?” Jon wants to absolutely kick himself.

“Fine,  er , how are you?” Martin sighs when Jon only nods, and they fall into tense silence. “Ah, Georgie seems nice.”

To someone like Jon, who does not have an ounce of people skills, the fact that Martin remembers Georgie’s name after such a quick introduction is almost enough to awe him. His lack of people skills  are  put to the test as he tries to figure out why this is where their conversation is going. Martin’s frown only deepens when he responds, “Yeah, Georgie is amazing.”

So  he must have failed the test.

“How long have you two been together?”

Wait.

“What?”

“You and Georgie. You seem to know each other really well, so it must be a while.” Martin sounds bitter, which almost gives Jon an ounce of hope, except that he has the completely wrong idea.

“Georgie and I aren’t together, Martin.”

“Then  wh \- What?”

“I’m not dating Georgie.” Jon says again, slowly in a way that is less condescending and more Jon’s fear of spooking Martin. Feeling almost bold, he continues, “If I were, it would probably make things very complicated.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have feelings for her, I have feelings for someone else.” Jon tries his best to make his words sound significant, but Martin just gives a bitter laugh and presses himself further back against the counter, each hand has a  white knuckle  grip on it.

“Well, good for you. For them, I mean. That’s very, uh-”

“ Oh  for the love of-”

In movies, especially romantic ones, it always seems so easy and romantic to grab someone by the front of their shirt and haul them down into a kiss. In books, it always goes so well.

In reality, Martin  flails and makes a noise against Jon’s lips that sounds more panicked than pleased. Jon pushed away immediately, apologies tripping off his lips and emotions sticking themselves in his throat.

He’s still making apologetic noises when he feels warm hands frame his cheeks, and instinctively grabs one of Martin’s wrists and leans into the touch, refusing to meet his eyes. Martin softly calls his name until Jon looks up, and his blush is so much prettier up close. His brown eyes are warm, and shining, and just as scrunched up as his nose when he smiles so genuinely.

“Sorry, Jon, I just wasn’t expecting- I mean,” Martin lets out a hysterical sounding, disbelieving laugh. “Do you mind if I try, this time?”

Jon nods, “I think that would be for the best.”

He isn’t sure if he is going to be able to speak for the rest of the evening with the way his brain short circuits when Martin kisses him. One of Jon’s hands, still tangled in the collar of Martin’s sweater, loosens itself and ventures up to card through the short hairs at the base of Martin’s neck.

Eventually, he pulls back, and Jon is so overwhelmed and completely embarrassed that he presses his face against Martin’s shoulder and tries to calm his heart and mind. Martin’s light giggles shake him, and he is almost settled when he both feels and hears a gentle, almost whispered rumble of, “So, ah, what was the phone number thing about?”

Jon pulls away immediately to give Martin a completely dumbfounded look.

“You gave me your phone number? And I texted you, but you never responded.” Martin flushes again and stutters out, “Not that you were required to, I just figured I had come on too strong and you weren’t interested, that’s why I was avoiding you.”

“Martin. I never gave you my number.”

His answer is a defensive, strangled noise, followed by Martin pushing away lightly to fish his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up a contact and practically shoves it in Jon’s face. Jon reads it quietly, twice, a furrow in his brow.

“This is my number, but I never gave it to you,” Martin looks scared for a minute, but Jon raises a hand and shakes his head, “I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m just confused. I never got any texts from you, either.”

As if to prove it, Jon pulls his phone out of his own back pocket and pulls up the messages app before handing it to Martin.

“Jon,” Martin is pressing his lips together, but he looks like he is trying to keep from laughing. “Do you have your notifications set up to not alert you about texts from random numbers?”

Jon has no idea. He peeks over Martin’s shoulder to look at what he is tapping at as the man switches tabs on his phone to one marked  _ unknown  _ _ senders _ , where three text notifications sit.

** Hey Jon, it’s Martin!  ** ** 😊 ** **** the first reads.

** Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you gave me your number, I didn’t think you were interested! I was trying  ** ** really hard ** **  not to be one of those people who hits on their baristas, but I think I really like you. Do you mind if I take you out to dinner sometime? **

** hey, sorry if  ** ** i ** **  read that wrong,  ** ** i ** **** ** didnt ** **  mean to make you uncomfortable if  ** ** i ** **  mixed signals **

Jon looks so horrified that Martin just bursts out laughing, “I thought you were trying to let me down easy.”

“Martin, I-”

“Don’t worry about it, Jon,” His hand comes up to cradle Jon’s cheek again, and Jon leans into it even as he stares at his traitor of a phone. Martin eventually seems to get frustrated by this, because he gently taps under Jon’s chin until he looks up obligingly and stretches to let Martin kiss him again.

“Are you two still figuring things out?” Daisy’s voice comes from the living room. “We want cake, but don’t want to interrupt!”

Noises of shushing and giggling follow her shouts, and Jon opens the door to the kitchen and glowers at her as she saunters into the kitchen past them to the cake on the counter with the image of two ball-and-chains chained together in an infinity.

“Daisy, did you give Martin my number?”

She freezes on her way out the door, then turns and frowns at Jon, “Did you not know that? Did he not-”

“Jon doesn’t know how to open texts from unknown senders,” Martin’s voice is teasing, so Jon gives an exasperated huff and crosses his arms.

“Is that why everything got weird? I’m so sorry, I thought it might speed up your endless pining, not bring everything to a crashing  halt .”

Despite himself, Jon laughs lightly, and he and Martin offer her assurances as they usher her back out to guests.

It’s weird, having another person slot themselves so easily into his group of friends, but Martin seems excited to be a part of their night, and Jon isn’t about to start complaining when he tucks himself under Martin’s arm and watches his friends make absolute fools of themselves at charades.

(He’s definitely not complaining when Martin drops a kiss on the top of his head before taking his turn to be an absolute fool.)

**Author's Note:**

> CHRIST do u understand how hard it was to keep calling martin peter,,,,,,,, im so sorry martin u deserve better,,,,  
> this really got away from me towards the middle but i hope its still fun and good !!!!  
> catch me on tumblr @theritaminute !!


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